


That Kind Of Fan

by RiotIsABoss



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: Admiration, Crimes & Criminals, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiotIsABoss/pseuds/RiotIsABoss
Summary: Deviations from 05x03: Mr. March gives up his toys and can not resist the excitement. --- Translation of "Ese tipo de fan" by ThanDance_for_Me.





	That Kind Of Fan

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ese tipo de fan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073715) by [Ali_Hatter_Fanfics (Alicia_Hatter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_Hatter/pseuds/Ali_Hatter_Fanfics). 



> There's further translation, and added parts to help the flow.

Tristan walked quietly along the corridor, the emotion gnawing at his bones and forced him to hurry. He adjusted his bangs before entering the room, knowing that the other was neat and clean. Maybe that's why, but for some reason, that day he could place a strong draw to the place. Like he could feel it from ten blocks away.

From the doorway, he popped his head in and then entered the room, the classical music in the background and the quiet solitude filled it. Looking at the light streaming into the room from the window, but not finding who he really wanted to see in those moments. The model's eyes searched every corner of the room, searching for the one person he wished to see more than anything.

"I don't know if you can hear me." Going to the sofa, circling it and pretending he would find something there, that'd be funny if that happened. "I have to admit that you scared me before. I didn't understand you, but now I do." 

Tristan's eyes ended up looking upwards in the room for some reason , and it was kind of fun to imagine James climbing up on the ceiling. Arms and legs stretched out but strong enough not to fall. And the serial killer would be watching him, all while stroking his mustache and grimacing with his lips.

"Come on, man, talk to me." He went on to the next room, faster and more desperate. "I know everything about you. I'm a fan." He said with enthusiastic tone, an authentic one at that. Hands going to gently caress the wall, as though James may be able to feel it.

"Your name is James Patrick March. You were born on the 30th of October, 1895."

He checked the next part of the room, the light coming through the window having no mercy on his eyes. He made sure to inspect every hole and wet mark on the wall, turning back to the bed when he didn't get what he expected. Biting his lip a bit, a slight sense of worry coming over him. Wondering if he wouldn't find what he wanted.

"You're a Scorpio ... which explains a lot." 

Looking again at the ceiling, making sure that no section was overlooked. He could appear anytime, anywhere, that was what was special. That's what made Tristan seek him out. Something so bold and mysterious was so intriguing. 

"You're the best serial killer ever."

Leaning on the end of the bed, he bent his knees and laid on it, his legs swayed as he did so. It wasn't the first time he was in that bed, but the first time had felt so comfortable. Tristan remembered clearly, the tight lips and hard stare that Mr. March had when he pulled the trigger, and the moan he expelled to finish it. Then the younger felt like a fool in rejecting it, it was embarrassing and exciting to remember him. Curling a bit more into the bed, wondering if it smelled like when he had last lied in it.

"How do you know all this?"

He glanced at the ceiling and then turned to find James. The smoke from his pipe and mouth was fused with the rays of the sun, the builder's head bowed and his eyebrows raised. So cool. So Tristan sat up with a smile on his lips, his eyes finally connected to each other.

"I Googled you."

He was up all night in front of his phone screen informing himself. Each page he reviewed was better than the previous page, and he nibbled anxiously on his lower lip as he waited for them to be fully loaded. Tristan couldn't stop his hand from crossing his pants, slipping down and grasping his hard cock. March's various styles made it swell more and more, and made the model heat up hotter and hotter. That was the night he enjoyed the most, he didn't even remember exactly how many times he had to set his hands down to stop from getting any more aroused. Only it was a large number.

"That sounds obscene." James smiled at the other, the tone of his voice growing brighter.

He stood up with the momentum he took from his arms, as he held them on the end of the bed. "You were right, man." James's eyes widened. "Killing is amazing."

The younger didn't do it before, but now he did it very well. Killing. Killing was simply the reason one could wish to live. The blood splashed on his face and covered his neck, the heat he carried did not leave him at any time. And the electrifying emotion that ran through his veins at that time was inexplicable, not even the best Bolivian powders achieved such a sensation, and he could also say that it was an impact even James' history didn't achieve.

Emotion returned to his veins and spread rapidly in his body, waving his arm and raising his hand with his fingers outstretched. "High five!" Wait, did James even know what a high-five was?

James looked at Tristan's hand and then back at him again. "Well, you've found your calling. Then you can appreciate what I've built here." March stepped into the main room, his arm falling swiftly and almost oblivious that he was at some point on top. So the model followed him at a slow pace, eyes sneakily checking the ghost out as he wasn't fully-looking. "Secret rooms, hinged walls, acid pits, asphyxiation chambers."

Just hearing it, the idea of getting blood without the need for a tasteless knife, was fascinating. Tristan would have loved to have known it before; he wouldn't have wasted so much of his life. Immortality with March would have been much more enduring and alive.

"Are you familiar with my Black Wardrobe?"

March opened the door, introducing him to the closet. It was dark, much more than the night. The walls of the sides were smooth and strong to lead any difficult victims to the final wall, where one discovered long after the gigantic nail was piercing the flesh and the blood has formed a vast pool. The model's imagination was grandiose and he could actually feel it, as if he were there, hurrying the victim so that they continued to take steps backwards. Until they'd have no choice, but to be pushed and finished. And that was all he needed to be hard once again. Arousal swarming his thoughts.

"Yes. There are places in my murder palace that have been left in the cold forgetfulness for a long time." James closed the door, killing Tristan's imagination and making him focus on the real moment. He went back to the sofa, taking a seat. "You can use them, old boy."

He licked his lips, knowing he could give so many uses to those sites. Think of the hundreds of ways he would run his food, the various ways of cutting them, and get even the last drop of blood still hot, though it would not please the accommodating Miss Evers. And the best part, Tristan would throw them off the ramp in the basement next to March, or directly hunt them next to him.

"Oh, man, you're amazing." Tristan says.

His hands went to James' shoulders, legs parted between his and Tristan forged a place for his ass in the ghost's lap. Tilting his head to find the perfect position for his lips to move to the opposites, eyes half-lidded as he grinds into the male below him. So soft, with saliva and a minimum of tobacco appearing in the mix of tastes. Then Tristan discovered a complete taste to the tobacco when tasting the older’s mouth. A taste that was laid in the tongue, palate, teeth and even in the other’s breathing that exhaled from his nose and his mouth.

"I'm not that kind of fan, I'm not gay for doing this.” He explained, even as the blush on his cheeks began to appear. "I just need to do this with you."

James' mouth moved, but didn’t do anything else as Tristan’s lips were imprisoning them again. His tongue wiggled inside, took all the flavor that every now and then was imperceptible. James' hands settled on his waist and his tongue began to overtake the younger’s.

His mouth parted for the other as James' teeth correlated his tongue, pressing on it and forcing the younger to pull away as he could not bear the pain. It was for the last seconds that he felt it penetrating. Brushing it in his own tongue, discovered a tiny taste iofblood, and smiled broadly at that.

"Have you ever done it with a fan?"

"It's not exactly my style." March said eccentrically, just as he always did. "You are the first."

"Then you, like, you’re my first too."

The first thing Tristan took off was the handkerchief that was around James’ neck, and he hesitated at the uncertainty of not knowing whether it was the right thing to do or not. Or whether that would please James. His attention had been called to the cut that showed the flesh, and now that he knew the reason, James’ was even more fascinating.

Gentle fingers mingled in the tidy hair, the fingertips stuck to the scalp and pulled the older’s head. While the neck stretched, showing more of the wound and the Adam's apple pressed between the skin. Tristan licked his lips, contemplating and tasting him. James' lips were tight and he sat still, just like the model wanted.

The tip of his tongue pressed against the Adam's apple, dragging down to the area where the skin rose and the flesh was allowed to be tasted. No one could ever have the same taste. It was sweet, much more than the others, and bitter also, giving a specific and irreproducible touch.

The moan that spilled out from James's lips filled Tristan’s ears, and caused the swelling in his crotch. Causing the younger to moan a bit as well, holding tight to James’ shoulders. His teeth were distant and embedded in the flesh, reddish like pomegranates. The pressure he used on the flesh made the blood touch his tongue, caress his palate and warm his throat.

"My blood is not the right one for you, child.” James’ fingers twitched on Tristan’s waist at the contact of his tongue and flesh. “If you want to lose your vitality, we can do it in a more fun way.”

"I don’t wanna die until I hunt with you." He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb, sucking it off as he grinned at James’. "But first I wanna have fun otherwise. And don’t worry, I'm a dead man too, so I’m your type.”

"You're part of my repertoire anyway, boy.”

Tristan’s hands trailed James’ chest and belly above his clothes, and stopped at the top of his pelvis. Fingers reached out to get the entire package, with the tips pushing against it to make out the hardness it hid. Nibbling on his lower lip, Tristan hurriedly unfastened James’ belt buckle, pushing his trousers down a few inches, before taking the ghost’s cock in his hand.

This time a roar escaped from James' mouth, and it was more delightful than the groans of pleasure. So Tristan bit his lip harder, his own pants way too tight for his liking. Moaning out as his fingers took possession of the base, his thumb pressing down on the head. Descending downwards until he came back with five fingers, pressing into it harder. It was slow to go down, and quick to the tip, becoming more abrupt.

"Touch me." Tristan whimpers, hips jerking forward, his free hand brushing his cock in desperation.

"Is that the way they taught you to ask for something, tough boy?"

Tristan smiled to the side, that game was so old and he knew it so well. But on James it was good, it was damn good. Further spreading his legs as he slid further into James’ lap, hands still on the older male’s cock. "Please touch me, Mr. March.”

"Well, well, good boy.”

James' fingers traced his hips, easily slipping beneath his tight jeans. Fingernails finding themselves scraping Tristan’s ass slowly and teasingly. Circling his entrance, causing the younger to shudder, and the arousal of his groin made him make some space with his fingers. The palms on Tristan’s rear paralyzed him, so he teased himself, trying not to move into the hands as they grasped at his rear. The tip of the middle finger began to make a place inside.

Tristan groaned as he tried to keep the control in his hand, as James moved him close to his crotch. Free hand sliding along the model’s sleek curves from beneath the other’s clothes. While the finger reached deeper, causing Tristan’s legs to tremble, and he felt good with the new intrusions, so good. His hole was emptied with parsimony, only to be refilled with promptness as he moaned. The heat progressed with the entrances and the cold paused with the exits. His fingers moistened with March’s own precome, stopping his fingers on the tip of the other’s cock.

"Are you ready for me, Mr. March?"

“Are you?”

"Pfft, I’ve been since the first day we met, Mr. March.”

Tristan lowered his trousers to his knees, desperate and anxious. Lifting his hips, placing the older’s cock between his buttocks and descending with a gasp. It would’ve been quick on his part, but James' hands on his hips forced him to do it with prudence and tranquility. So much so, that he perceived it as a cruel game that only managed to make him more eager and hateful for not getting what the model wanted, when he wanted it.

However, he had it and felt it. All the news, all the fantasies, now had all that inside him and he also had James Patrick March just for him. The feeling of reading it on his phone was pleasant, hearing it through James' own voice was better, and this… this simply surpassed it.

His movements were marked by James, the fingers deepened the grip on his body and pulled him up and down. His back arched the moment his hands left his hip and went to the ghost’s shoulder blades, clinging to them and taking James to him. Groaning louder at the warm breath on the skin of his neck, and gasping as the pleasure took a hold of his body.

"You have many obscene sounds, boy.” James purred, tilting his head and placing his lips over her neck. The ghost of the man breathing harder as well, pleasure taking its own claim on the being. “That’s good, darling.”

The tickle began in his neck, in the place where the lips wet skin, and the teeth marked James claim. It continued to his groin and legs, where the thrusts were becoming rougher. Striking Tristan somewhere that made him love it, gasping against the other male as they bucked together. His lips appeared to have no consistency, sometimes he kept them open to give way to the gasps and cries, and in others he closed them by clenching his teeth.

Tristan had James' lips on his as soon the ghost came with a grunt within him, and his own cum soaked his skin and soiled his clothes. The younger’s head rested on the older’s right shoulder, his nails sticking into James' back, preventing him from vanishing. Stay...


End file.
